


Tales of a Long, Dear Friendship

by Guanin



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 06:20:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9165772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: Scenes from Percival and Seraphina's friendship since they first met at dueling competition at Ilvermorny, progressing through their lives at MACUSA.





	

Ilvermorny had no lack of competitive activities. Apart from the traditional Quodpot and Quidditch Cups, the school was always abuzz with some championship or other. Debate matches, chess competitions, broom racing, maze racing, and myriad others, but the most popular by far had always been the dueling competition. In the year 1902, the school was in a frenzy over that term’s championship, for Seraphina Picquery, the only student who had ever been invited to join all four houses, and who accumulated medals and trophies like a Chocolate Frog enthusiast collecting cards, was defending her dueling champion title, which she had held since she was fourteen, being the only fourth year to even reach the final round since 1819. No one had come close to beating her since. Until now, when a Fifth Year by the name of Percival Graves joined the competition for the first time. Top of his class, he had accumulated plenty of honors of his own, among them winning the chess competition that fall. She had bowed out that year, wishing to concentrate on her increased coursework and the debate club instead, but was pretty certain that she could have beaten him if she had participated, and didn’t fear for her dueling title. 

During the four weeks of March, all the school could think about was dueling as the matches took over the weekends, each Sunday ending with a round of eliminations. Due to how the groups had been set up, Seraphina and Percival didn’t meet until the very end. Standing at the center of the great hall on a brisk Sunday morning, they faced each other, wands in hand, waiting for the headmaster to announce the beginning of the final match. Seraphina had watched Graves’s matches studiously since he defeated his first opponent and passed onto the next round. His skill was much advanced for his age, like hers, his form tight and steady, absent of the showy flourishes that some of the other students employed to show off, to their own detriment. As he kept winning his matches, she grew a tad concerned, although she wouldn’t admit it to herself for more than a moment. He was also a favorite student of Prof. Makutsi, who taught the elective wandless magic courses. Dueling was expected to be performed with wands, although there wasn’t anything in the rulebook specifying that this was obligatory. Neither had yet been disarmed in their matches, so wandless magic hadn’t been necessary, making it impossible for her to gauge his level of skill. Nor did she expect to be disarmed by him, but she hadn’t reached this level of expertise without taking all the possibilities into account. 

They bowed, eyes never wavering from each other, assessing until the last moment. As the stood up straight, she detected a hint of nervousness in his eyes, swiftly covered up by confident determination. Her grip on her wand tightened a fraction. 

“Begin!”

Seraphina struck first, but only by a sliver of a second, hitting him with a knockback jinx, which he barely avoided by raising a shield charm at the last second. She kept pelting him, hitting nothing but his shield as he ducked. He took advantage of a fraction of an opening, smacking her with a spell so strong that it pushed her back a full yard despite raising a shield just in time. They continued to pummel each other, their duel soon growing more relentless than any that she had engaged in before. She had always finished her duels relatively quickly after that first year, but Graves wouldn’t let one in, not until she hit him with a dual spell from her wand and her left hand, which shattered his shield and sent his wand flying. Ready to hit him with an incarceration charm, she just missed his right hand sliding on the floor, wandlessly yanking her feet out from under her, crashing her painfully to the ground. As she rushed to scramble up, he summoned his wand, but she arrested the spell with a swift “Expelliarmus”, grabbing the wand with her left hand. It felt oddly aggressive on her palm, as if the wand were asserting its intense displeasure at being held by someone who wasn’t its master. She tried the incarceration spell again, but he shielded himself, crouching with both hands up, pushing his translucent shield charm desperately against her spell. She stepped toward him , aiming a shield piercer one instead. Sweat beaded his forehead, gaze desperate as the shield cracked, melting around him. Her incarcerating spell finally went through, binding his hands behind his back, dropping him to his knees. She wound the rope tightly around his fingers just in case. He struggled, gasping, but only for a moment, resignation falling across his face. He bowed his head in surrender.

“Seraphina Picquery is the victor!”

A riotous cheer engulfed the hall as students and teachers clapped and praised what was destined to become one of the most legendary duels in school history. Seraphina didn’t pay attention to any of it, mindful only on the boy before her as she released his bonds and gave him back his wand. She held out her hand, helping him to his feet.

“Good show, Graves,” she said. “That might be the most stimulating match I’ve ever had.”

“Thank you.” Graves tilted his head in acknowledgement. “I didn’t actually expect to be able to beat you, to be honest, but I’m glad that I was able to give you a run for your money.”

“Not that much of a run.”

“I yanked you off your feet, which no one else has ever done. I’d say that qualifies as a run.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, ready to be offended, but instead of malicious guile in his eyes, she found admiration and respect and the wish to have his own talents acknowledged. She smirked slightly, tilting her head at him.

“Perhaps.”

````````````````````````````````````````````

Seraphina walked into Percival’s office after a quick knock on the door, his secretary having assured her that he was alone. Percival looked up from his paperwork, expression impassive as ever, betraying only the slightest bit of trepidation at the irritation on her face.

“Captain,” he said as she closed the door, putting down his quill.

He didn’t bother wasting time by asking why she was there.

“You turned down the post in Chicago,” Seraphina said.

“I did.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to deal with lake effect snow.”

“Knock it off, Percival. You want to make Head of Law Enforcement. Taking a promotion for Captain in Chicago helps get you there. Which is why I recommended you for it.”

“I know. And I thank you. But I’d rather stay in New York. The highest positions are all here, as well as the connections. That’s why you’ve stayed, isn’t it? You could have been captain sooner in San Francisco.”

“San Francisco is an entire continent away. Chicago isn’t even half that. And I knew that I would make captain here as soon as Estevez got promoted.”

“Precisely. I’ll just wait for you to become commissioner.”

Seraphina narrowed her eyes. 

“Seriously? That could be a few years.”

“Not with your track record. And the commissioner here wants to retire.”

“She’s not sure.”

“Those grandchildren grow up so fast. She wants to spend more time with them. Her current workload doesn’t allow that. She’ll cave soon enough. You know she will.”

Seraphina crossed her arms. He was right. The commissioner loved her job, but it had been a long, grueling career, and taking it easy with her grandkids seemed to be holding a greater and greater appeal than worrying about beast smuggling or catching murderers.

“You’re probably right,” she said. 

“And you’ll take her place.”

“You know I don’t like to count my eggs before they hatch.”

“You will.”

Seraphina held his confident gaze. She snorted softly.

“Yes, I will.”

She sat down on the chair before Percival’s desk, leaning back.

“And I’ll make you captain,” she continued.

“I won’t hold you to that if you prefer someone else.”

“As if I would. It’s not nepotism when you are the most qualified person for the job. But I hope that you’re not banking on me to get you all the way to the top.”

“Of course not. I’d never ask you for a free ride. Although we’ve always worked best with each other. Which is another reason why I don’t want to be captain 800 miles away.”

The quiet warmth in his tone expressed what he left unspoken. He didn’t want to be that far away from her, not for a post that might last years. After Percival graduated from Ilvermorny, they had attended the same school, and even after she took her first job as auror while he was still studying, they lived in the same city, and no more than a couple of weeks went by without them seeing each other, for her to help out Percival with his coursework, to play chess or a card game, or simply to sit together reading because they didn’t need to fill the air with chatter all the time. Their presence was enough. The immense distance had factored into her decision to resist the San Francisco transfer, as well. 

“I had considered that,” she said. “But I wanted to put your ambitions first. Not recommending you felt self-serving.”

“I appreciate it. I know that you’d never hold me back just to keep me. But we haven’t needed to compromise our friendship yet, and we certainly don’t have to now.”

“Alright, then. No more trying to send you away. But I expect you to land every promotion at my pace. I want you at my side when I become president, not someone else.”

“I’ll try to keep up.”

“Well, then, Chief Graves.” Seraphina stood up, smoothing out her suit jacket. “I’ll see if I can get you in my office by the end of the year. And remember to bring the snacks on Sunday. It’s your turn.”

“I won’t forget again. I was severely sleep-deprived that weekend from that strangler case.”

“I’m just mentioning it.” She smiled lightly. “I’m glad you’re staying.”

``````````````````````````````````````````````````

Seraphina became president at the record young age of 38. The opposition had been fierce, but few could deny that her firm, determined leadership was precisely what the country needed right now in this time of threat and danger. A rising star that no one had been able to curb, no one denied that she would achieve her goal of the highest post in the land soon enough. If it hadn’t been in this election, certainly in the next one. Having the Graves family at her side had not hurt one bit, of course. Her friendship was reserved for Percival, but, in the political sphere, Percival was attached to Senator Minerva Graves, Judge Everard Graves, and Commissioner Gustavo Loaiza-Graves of the San Francisco department, as well as a significant number of other influential figures. The family had held the country’s admiring respect since Gondolphus Graves became one of the legendary first aurors to defend their country. 

Percival himself enjoyed a similar level of popularity, albeit a tad tarnished by Seraphina’s opponents, who accused him of enjoying the fruits of her preferential treatment, as his own rank was always just one step under hers. They had been forced to endure some slight, professional distancing when she had decided to become senator after being commissioner to give her a firmer grounding in the political sphere (allowing Percival himself to take the commissioner post), but now that she was president, she could right that ship.

“I’m officially appointing you Director of Magical Security,” she said at her celebration party, which was truly their celebration party. Success for one had always been the joy of the other. 

They had discussed this before, so the news came as no surprise to Percival, who glanced at her raised drink with a smile.

“I’m not sure that gigglewater forms part of official appointments, but I accept. Thank you.”

He raised his own drink, a whisky, and they clinked glasses, downing their drinks. Seraphina erupted in a shrill giggle. Percival snorted. Gigglewater, as ridiculous as it made her sound, was rather a weakness of hers, and if it made her look a little silly (only on limited occasions, of course), then so be it. Besides, it was immensely popular, and no one looked appropriate while drinking it. The party crackled with giggles as people indulged their own shots. But not Percival. He was much too dignified to look the fool in public, even at a party. 

Well, not at this party. Grabbing one of the gigglewater shots on the table, she held it out to him. He frowned at it and shook his head, looking mildly appalled.

“No. I’m not drinking that.”

“Just one time.”

“I don’t need to laugh like a loon in front of everyone.”

“I just laughed like a banshee. You’re not going to have to bury your head in embarrassment because you had one shot of gigglewater.”

Percival didn’t give, adamant. Seraphina put the drink down.

“Fine,” she said. “You know, I’m not quite sure if you are the best fit for director. That Vigoreaux fellow from the Boston office is proving quite talented.”

“Give me that.” Percival grabbed the drink. “I know you’re joking, but I’ll drink this for you.” He lifted a finger. “This one time.”

He downed the glass and set it on the table, his face contorted as he strove to resist the liquor’s magic, but he couldn’t help but emit a raucous laugh so loud that everyone in their vicinity turned to look. He straightened in his chair, daring anyone to say anything with his signature “nothing to see here; keep moving” stern expression. People swiftly turned away, pretending to be engaged in fascinating conversations. 

“Now that didn’t hurt, did it?” Seraphina asked, grinning as she grabbed a fresh glass. 

`````````````````````````````

On a particularly slow news week, the press decided to speculate about whether or not Seraphina and Percival were romantically involved, using a recent dinner that they had both been spotted on as a springboard. Never mind that the reason why they had eaten dinner together at a restaurant that happened to be considered a romantic hotspot among the wizarding community on a Friday night was because they had both stayed at the office way too late doing paperwork, as they were wont to do, and their stomachs were both growling painfully by the end of it, so they rushed to the closest venue with food, which happened to be that one. Neither of them had cared about the restaurant’s reputation, because, one, intense hunger, and two, who cared? They were both secure in the knowledge that neither of them could ever think of the other that way. Percival wasn’t even romantically inclined toward women, and Seraphina in general wasn’t romantically inclined, period. Except for one notable time, which had blown up spectacularly in her face, after which she had decided to stick by her natural instincts of not caring about all that bother. The thought was so ridiculous that she barely spared an eye roll before dropping the headline-bearing paper in the trash.

They both ignored the gossip, having better things to do than to indulge the inane whims of nosy reporters and bored housewives. Instead, they went back to the restaurant the next night. And did paperwork right there on the table beside the perfectly set flower vase in the dim, mood lighting. They returned the next day, as well, this time with books, which they read while leaning back silently in their chairs and chewing on their food. After the third night of this, the press, frustrated with their antics, dropped the subject and pretended that they had never mentioned it in the first place. 

`````````````````````````````````````````

When Head of Magical Law Enforcement Yen announced his retirement, only one name for his replacement buzzed in the mouths of those who lived to speculate about political circles: Percival Graves. Sure, other people were also qualified for the post, but really now. When had President Picquery ever chosen anyone to serve at her side other than him? Blatant favoritism. Couldn’t be more obvious. Sure, Graves was a powerful wizard and one of the most decorated aurors in the department, a worthy successor to his famous ancestor, but did that warrant her not even considering anyone else?

Seraphina and Percival’s response to said criticism was the same as always: profound apathy. Seraphina challenged anyone to tell her that Percival wasn’t an excellent choice for the post, which, of course, they couldn’t do, while Percival thanked his president for her generous offer and refused to rise to the bait of anyone suggesting that their friendship in any way interfered in their professional life. It didn’t. No one had ever produced any proof that it did, because it simply didn’t exist. Percival took up his new post as head of the DMLE while keeping his job as Director of Magical Security, since there was no question of him being able to do both. The press hemmed and hawed for a while, but after a couple of weeks of MACUSA functioning properly without descending into chaos or tyranny, they ran out of steam. By the end of the year, they had done a complete volte face and were singing Percival’s praises for doing such an admirable job in such trying times, lauding Seraphina for recognizing such great talent and not giving in to the detractors, never mind that said detractors had been themselves. 

`````````````````````````````````````````

Seraphina and Percival had been going to the same tailor since Percival had shown up to work in a splendid charcoal gray chalk stripe suit cut to perfection. Since they both needed new coats that winter, they made an afternoon of it and browsed the fresh selection of fabrics and styles together. When Seraphina announced that she had decided upon sleeves with forked openings at the wrist with piping that trailed up the shoulders, Percival regarded her with a ruminating expression.

“That’s the style I was thinking of,” he said, his tone just one shade off from possessive.

“Really?” Seraphina said, narrowing her eyes right back at him. "It might be a bit much if we're both wearing the same style, on top of everything else."

"Of course. You're right."

Seraphina pulled out a one dragot coin and held it up.

"Call it."

"Heads."

Seraphina flipped the coin. She grinned at the result.

"Tails it is."

Percival inclined his head, conceding defeat.

Two weeks later, she premiered her new coat, which proved just as warm and aesthetically on point as she’d counted on it to be. She received a bevy of compliments, including Percival’s, who had yet to receive his own coat, since Seraphina’s, as the president, had taken priority.

Two weeks later, he still wore his old coat. When Seraphina inquired about it, he replied that there had been a delay in the fabric that he wanted for the lining, but that it should be ready in a week. 

At the end of that week, Seraphina showed up at the Major Investigations Department for a morning meeting. Although most everyone left their coats at their offices or their desks upon coming into work, there was a coat rack by the door for that purpose should one come in straight from the street in a rush. On it, on the edge of her peripheral vision as she entered, she caught a glimpse of a white line on a length of black fabric. She turned.. Oh, for Merlin’s sake. A brand new coat hung on the rack, its black sleeves adorned with white piping that ended in forked ends so pronounced that they rose up to the mid-forearm. Percival glanced at her innocently from the meeting table, eyes betraying only the slightest smirk as he wrote out a small note on a slip of paper, folding it and sliding it across the table to her. 

_It’s not exactly the same._

If it hadn’t been for the aurors in the room, she would have rolled her eyes.

 _Oh, please,_ she wrote, narrowing her eyes at him before addressing the room.

`````````````````````````

Seraphina should have noticed that her friend had been replaced by the most dangerous man in wizardkind. She should have. There were small signs. Odd moments. Percival forgetting a name here and there. Not going to social functions despite usually making an appearance, even if it was brief. Not getting one of the commissioner’s familiar jokes, claiming sleep deprivation for his slow response despite appearing well rested. Not spending as much time together, his smiles slower, more guarded. She had assumed that his mind was preoccupied on something else, that grief over the recent death of his cats affected him still, that he was simply indulging his displeasure for engaging in small talk by not going to the parties, that the stress of dealing with the unrest over Grindelwald and Rappaport’s Law was feeding his need to be alone, which she understood completely. None of these signs had suggested that anything was happening more untoward than stress and bad nights’ sleep making him out of sorts. Grindelwald crafted his fiction painfully well. He ravaged her friend’s memory so thoroughly that not even his oldest friend had noticed that he was locked away while an imposter stood in his place. 

Not until the hijacker began to pontificate in the subway tunnel, spouting rhetoric ripped straight from the pages of Gellert Grindelwald, did she realize how immensely wrong Percival had been. She watched in horror, appalled by the apparent evidence that Percival, a man so upright and mindful of his duty and love of wizardkind, could be turned by vermin like Grindelwald. Only then did she ask herself if it was possible that Grindelwald had come to New York and placed Percival under the Imperius Curse. She was half right, it turned out. But also half-wrong. It took Scamander, the foreigner who didn’t know Percival at all, to see the truth. To reveal the ravenous rat in their midst. 

After Grindelwald had been taken into custody, the No-Maj population obliviated, and every available Magical Security employee was fixing the wreckage all over the city, Seraphina and a group of aurors rushed to Percival’s apartment and searched it, finding clear indications that Grindelwald had been living there for months, including coded letters from his followers in Europe, Polyjuice Potion, and the pensive he had used to examine Percival’s memories. After opening and examining every object that they could for nearly an hour, an auror finally called out, 

“I found him!”

Seraphina rushed into the kitchen and looked into the cookie tin that the auror was holding aloft. Inside the expanded space, Percival lied in an enchanted sleep, pale and wan, a small bald spot near his temple where Grindelwald had been plucking out his hair. Her usually steely professional façade slipped as the full horror of what had occurred sank in its iron claws.

She should have known.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m using the auror ranking system as it appears on the Wanted posters in the movie, which were listed as Chief, Captain, and then Commissioner.


End file.
